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Chapter : 8
After finishing his words, he walked toward the door. He looked like he had absolutely no intention of listening to Lauren. Cedric grabbed the doorknob, then suddenly stopped and glanced back at her.
“Should I bring you more cheesecake?”
“No. Next time I’ll throw the table.”
Cedric let out a deflated sigh.
The door slammed shut. Hearing the clinking metal sounds outside, it seemed like he was locking it with chains or something similar.
Grinding her teeth, Lauren wiped her fingers clean on Cedric’s frock coat spread across the table.
No plan came to mind yet. But she couldn’t just sit there and accept confinement that might never end.
Lauren curled up on the sofa.
Noah must’ve woken up by now. He should’ve filed a report already.
She buried her face into her knees.
She didn’t want to admit it, but Cedric had been right—it was a ridiculously comfortable captivity.
Lauren fully adjusted within just two days.
Her prison—whether that was the right word—had changed from a room with only two sofas and a table to a slightly larger space.
And although the windows were still covered with thick boards, she was now free to move around inside the mansion.
There were many locked rooms, so she couldn’t go far, but at least she was being fed well.
Cedric had not shown his face since that day. Instead, the middle-aged man she’d seen on the first day stood in as her conversational partner. His name was Peter.
No matter where she went, eyes followed her. The servants were polite, but someone checked her whereabouts every hour.
Even so, it was true: life here was far more comfortable than her old life. As long as she didn’t try to leave, she could stay as long as she liked and walk away when the time came.
But she didn’t trust Cedric.
What if he suddenly says everything’s solved and tries to kill me?
He promised generous compensation, but only a fool would trust a kidnapper’s promise. She needed something to rely on.
Her quiet behavior was less acceptance and more strategic hibernation as she waited for the perfect moment.
Lauren lay on the bed, reached under it, and pulled out paper and a pen. She usually carried them with her and only tucked them beneath the bed when she slept.
On the white paper were clumsy scribbles outlining the mansion’s rough structure—two days of exploration condensed into one messy sketch. She couldn’t draw well, so it looked more like tangled shapes than a floor plan.
As long as she stayed inside the mansion, the staff didn’t restrict her further.
So mysterious. Is safety really all they care about?
Or Cedric simply underestimated her.
But she preferred being underestimated to being seen as a threat. If they let their guard down long enough, an opportunity would come.
So far, she had figured out exactly three things about the house:
First, it was big.
Second, for its size, very few people worked in it.
Third, there were more locked rooms than open ones.
It was a maze, nearly impossible to map out.
I need a different plan.
She tried shaking the wooden boards blocking the windows again and again, but they wouldn’t budge. After repeating that useless effort, Lauren slumped into an armchair.
Her fingertips were red and swollen from trying to pry into the tiny gaps. While she was catching her breath, Peter burst in.
“Miss, what—are you hurt? You said it was urgent—”
He stopped when he saw Lauren sitting quietly.
“…Urgent, you said?”
“Yes, it is urgent. People say you can die of boredom, don’t they?”
“Damn it, you’re killing me…”
Peter muttered a curse—one that sounded like something a sailor might say.
It was strange how someone so awkward with polite manners ended up working in an earl’s household. Calling her “miss” seemed to be the only courtesy he could manage.
Lauren eyed him sideways. He was breathing hard—so perhaps he had rushed over.
“Sit down at least. I wasn’t trying to mess with you.”
Peter shook his head and leaned against the wall, as if he intended to stay standing.
She hugged the cushion in her lap.
“Miss, if you keep crying wolf, I might not come when it’s really important.”
“But I really was dying of boredom. What the hell is that damn earl doing, anyway? He hasn’t shown his face once!”
Peter stayed silent—proof he knew what Cedric was up to.
He was terrible at lying. She learned that over the past few days. When cornered with a difficult question, he didn’t make excuses—he just shut up.
“Is it so hard to tell me? Don’t you feel sorry for me, stuck here alone every day?”
“Well… I’ve no clue what the earl’s thinking either. If he says it’s dangerous, what choice do we have?”
He scratched his head helplessly.
Lauren squeezed the cushion hard with both hands, as though strangling a throat. The white fabric wrinkled harshly.
“If someone overheard you, they’d think there was a war happening outside. I’ve survived perfectly fine until now without getting hurt.”
“It’s not that simple, miss. Even if it looks safe, you never know when danger will show up. The earl says he doesn’t ever want to see you hurt, that’s all.”
Apparently Cedric had skipped context entirely and introduced Lauren to Peter as some extremely important person who must never be harmed. Peter clearly believed there was some dramatic relationship involved.
“He must be real smitten. I’ve known that man my whole life, and I’ve never seen him so pushy—”
“Not even once?”
“Plenty of times, but—”
“Thought so.”
“Anyway, this time is different. He told me that whatever you want, I should get it for you.”
Which explained why Peter often tried to highlight Cedric’s “good points.”
Lauren didn’t bother correcting him. Explaining the injuries and bonding and whatever else happened between her and Cedric felt far more exhausting.
“Sure, right. If I’m such an ‘important person,’ maybe he could bother showing his face.”
“He’s shy, that’s all.”
She almost screamed. If Peter hadn’t been there, she would’ve ripped the cushion apart with her teeth.
Only after messing up her hair wildly did she calm down enough to speak.
“So, Peter—did you look into the thing I asked about? I really can’t eat anything right now…”
She intentionally made her voice pitiful.
She was in the second day of a hunger strike. Refusing lavish meals wasn’t easy, but she had a plan, and this was part of it.
“Oh, that! Don’t worry. I’ll buy as many as you want. It’s going to work out. Just wait two more days and you’ll get them every meal!”
Peter replied confidently. Lauren smiled in triumph.
“You remember the details? Just any cream soup won’t do.”
“I remember. The cream soup with jerky from the ‘Blue Roof Tavern,’ right?”
“Yes. Only that one. It’s a weekend special.”
A plan—yes. She prayed she’d judged correctly. If Noah was truly a capable detective, he’d pick up the signal.
Jerky. Soup. Blue Roof Tavern.
A simple code combining things Noah had once told her.
“Robinson will be disappointed. I hear he won some big culinary award.”
“It’s not about whether it tastes good. It’s nostalgia.”
“What kind of young lady gets nostalgic over soup with jerky? You sound like a mercenary.”
Lauren shrugged.
Even while pretending to be casual, her mind spun furiously.
Even if Noah didn’t rescue her, she’d at least learn whether he was alive. It wasn’t a loss either way.
She couldn’t fully believe Cedric’s claim that the redhead was alive.
And that’s assuming Noah has actually gone back to work…
It was a risky plan filled with variables.
If Noah didn’t go to work—failure.
If he didn’t catch the signal—failure.
If Peter didn’t go to the Blue Roof Tavern—failure.
All she could do was hope for luck.
Lauren buried her face in the cushion.
